CHAPTER VIIITHE MAN WHO KNEW
Lefty had barely stepped inside the Hatchford Hotel lobby when some one leaped at him like a human whirlwind, and a vaguely familiar voice chortled in his ear:
“Well, you old lobster! If I’m not glad to see your ugly mug again! Put it there, old fellow!”
Whirling swiftly, Locke saw standing before him a short, slim, wiry chap of about his own age, with a deeply tanned and freckled face, and a big mouth stretched to its utmost in a wide grin of delight.
“Jack Stillman!” he exclaimed joyously, grabbing the outstretched hand. “Well, what do you know about this! Last time I ran into you was on Broadway, over a year ago. What the mischief are you doing down here?”
“That’s easy. I’m the only original live wire on the sporting page of theStar. Ran down to look over Jim Brennan’s live stock and give the fans something to think about. You don’t mean to say you’re one of ’em, Phil?”
“Guessed right the first crack, Jack,” Leftylaughed. “You always were an awful clever boy.”
“But how the deuce— I didn’t even know you’d taken up baseball. Thought you were scratching away in a lawyer’s office.”
“So I was until last spring. I played the season under the name of Lefty Locke. It’s a long story, but—”
Stillman’s eyes widened. “You’re Locke?” he exclaimed interestedly. “Wouldn’t that get you? I heard a few things about his pitching out in the bush last summer, but I hadn’t any idea you were it. Let’s have the yarn. Any good copy in it?”
“I hope not,” Lefty said hastily. “Come on upstairs and I’ll tell you the story of my life while I’m making myself respectable.”
The newspaper man accepted with alacrity, and when they reached Lefty’s room he made himself comfortable while the latter proceeded with his toilet and the recital of the summer’s doings at the same time.
“It’s a shame that Blue Stocking scout showed up just too late,” Stillman said regretfully. “Of course Jimmy Brennan is all right. He’s got more baseball under that dome of his than most managers in the country, and if you get in rightyou’ll be all to the merry. I’d hate like thunder to lose that coin though. Any more cub twirlers in the outfit?”
“Bert Elgin,” Lefty returned quietly.
Stillman stared, and an expression of incredulity flashed into his face. “What?” he gasped. “Not—”
Locke nodded. “The same. Funny, isn’t it, we should run up against each other this way?”
“Funny? I don’t see it. The cur!”
Lefty turned swiftly from the bureau, a queer look on his face. “Just what do you mean by that, Jack?” he asked slowly.
Stillman snorted. “You know very well what I mean,” he retorted forcibly. “I’m not supposed to be wise, but Bob Ferris told me the whole story, and it’s my opinion you were blamed fools to keep still about it. Any man who’ll steal from one college mate and then deliberately work to throw the blame on another isn’t fit for decent fellows to associate with. When you had him where you wanted him, why didn’t you come out with it, and let everybody know what kind of a mucker he was?”
Lefty slipped into his coat, and dropped down beside his friend.
“You know why we didn’t,” he said quickly.“He’d have been fired, and the varsity would have lost about every other game that season. You don’t suppose it was on Elgin’s account we kept still after we’d found how he was trying to throw the blame on me?”
“I’m not quite a fool. All the same, you were wrong. We might have dropped a game or two, but you could have jumped into his place, all right.”
“You know I couldn’t. I was slaving about ten hours a day to make up work I missed on account of that beastly typhoid. How long would I have lasted at Princeton if I tried to play ball, too? No; Bob and I thrashed it all out, and, though it came mighty hard, we decided it was the only thing to do, unless we wanted the team beaten to a frazzle.”
“Why didn’t you come out with it the next year?” demanded Stillman. “You could have pitched then, all right.”
“That would have looked fine, wouldn’t it? How would we have accounted for keeping quiet so long? I will say, Jack, that we were both sorry more than once afterward; but, having started out, there was nothing else to do but keep on. I don’t see how Bob came to tell you. It was understood that we should keep it entirely to ourselves.”
“It wasn’t till a year after we’d graduated,” the reporter explained, his face still clouded. “It was one right at the Princeton Club. I don’t remember just how the subject came up. I suppose he thought there wasn’t any need of keeping still any longer.” He paused and glanced at his companion. “How’s he acted since you showed up? Same old Elgin, I suppose?”
For an instant Lefty hesitated. He could picture Stillman’s sarcastic reception of the story of the night before, and, knowing his friend’s impulsive, quick-tempered nature, he decided that it would be wisest to keep silent.
“He wasn’t overjoyed to see me,” he returned quietly.
The newspaper man arose. “I should say not!” he commented briefly. “Afraid you’ll let the other fellows know what sort of a rotter he is. If I were in your place, I’d be hanged if I wouldn’t.”
“Where would be the sense?” Lefty retorted. “It was all over and done with years ago. Of course, if he should try anything like the same game again, it would be different. You’re not thinking of—”
“It’s none of my business,” Stillman put in.“I don’t want to have anything to do with the mucker. Let’s go down to dinner.”
As luck would have it, stepping out of the elevator, they came face to face with Bert Elgin himself, talking earnestly with big Bill Hagin, a regular outfielder. For an instant the former stared blankly at Stillman. Then, with a great affectation of heartiness, he thrust out a hand.
“Well, I’ll be hanged if it isn’t Jack Stillman!” he exclaimed. “Glad to see you, old hoss!”
The reporter made no attempt to withdraw his hands from his pockets. He seemed, in fact, to thrust them deeper, and as his eyes met Elgin’s there was a look of withering, contemptuous scorn in them, which cut the ball player like a knife.
“How are you, Elgin?” he said curtly, and passed on toward the dining room with Lefty.
For a second Elgin stood staring after them, his face flushed and his eyes gleaming angrily.
“Your friend don’t seem choked with joy at seeing you,” Hagin commented maliciously.
Elgin came to himself with a slight start, and shrugged his shoulders indifferently. “No special friend of mine,” he said shortly. “Used to see him now and then three years ago.”
Nevertheless, when he dropped into his place atthe table a short time later, his face was still flushed and angry.
“Stillman was friendly enough at Princeton,” he thought furiously. “That dog has turned him against me with his lying stories, that’s what’s happened.” He ground his teeth viciously. “If I don’t put it all over him, good and proper, I’m a liar!”